Stress Relief Redux
by HobbitFeet69
Summary: Sore after a physically demanding hunt, Dean decides to try and unwind. Castiel helps. Dean/Castiel


Title: Stress Relief Redux

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: M

Spoilers: Up to season 6, but pretty much completely AU after season 5.

Warnings: Sex, language, all that good stuff.

Word Count: 2,647

Summary: Sore after a physically demanding hunt, Dean decides to try and unwind. Castiel helps.

Un-beta'd

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the fic idea.

Shuffling wearily into the room, Dean fully intended to collapse on the nearest bed. Until he got a good look around.

"Holy shit."

Making short work of a wealthy hotel mogul's ugly poltergeist problem paid in spades. The angry spirit was causing quite a stir with her guests and she couldn't afford the ill publicity. She granted the brothers and their angelic and ex-angelic companions to well-stocked rooms for the rest of the week as a thank you.

The room was easily three times the size of their normal arrangements and Dean was impressed. He wanted to remind himself not to get used to such decadence, but damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it while he could. Dropping his duffel beside the best closest to the door, Dean made a slow circle, looking the room top to bottom. Definitely better than the usual.

His rotation was interrupted by a twinge in his left knee and, hissing at the discomfort, he carefully bent the leg in question several times, testing for flexibility. The joint was somewhat swollen, but not the worst injury he'd ever sustained on that particular leg.

"This is… nice," Castiel said, entering the room behind him. When assigning rooms, the chain tycoon didn't appear adverse to "their kind," which saved Dean the trouble of being offended. The two men stood in a single bed hotel room; fully intending to share the soft, king sized monstrosity they were gifted for their services.

When Dean turned to look at his companion, he was surprised to see that he still had bruises on his face. Now that Gabriel was the only angel among them, he had a penchant for healing the group after hunts. Especially Sam. The youngest Winchester never asked to be healed or helped unless something was punctured or broken, but the archangel fixed him up without preamble more times than not.

He reasoned that he didn't like to see Sam hurt. Dean couldn't argue because he didn't like seeing it either.

And although Gabriel had a similar arrangement with Dean, it only stretched so far as the "punctured or broken" category. He also was more lenient with his powers concerning his brother, as Castiel looked positively pitiful when injured, and again, Dean couldn't argue.

"Gabriel didn't," he cut himself off, motioning to his own face. Castiel looked confused for a moment before understanding brightened his eyes.

"He and Sam had other engagements to… attend," he supplied tactfully. 'I'll bet,' Dean thought wryly, trying not to dwell too much about what that meant.

"C'mere, let me look at you," he motioned Castiel forward. The two sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the over-soft mattress, while Dean checked him over for injuries. The ex-angel only had bruises, and most of Dean's own wounds were superficial, save for his knee. Once he was satisfied with his assessment, he scooted back off the bed. Castiel looked ready to collapse under his own weight, so Dean left him to rest while he moved into the bathroom.

If the main room was pleasantly shocking, he didn't know how to sufficiently describe his reaction to the bathroom. All the surfaces looked so damn _clean_. Glancing down at his plaster and dust-ridden clothes he felt momentarily inadequate, but the feeling was quickly replaced with confusion. He wanted a shower, but there didn't seem to be one. Instead, a large bath rested in the corner. And large meant that it could quite possibly seat three adults comfortably.

Dean was ready to resign them to hunting solely in well off hotels.

Toeing off his boots, he momentarily took stock of the situation. Dean prided himself on being able to rough it out in barely habitable motel rooms. It was the manly part of him, he assumed. And this hotel room, this bathroom - not manly. He knew it just by looking at the light pink labeled bottles of various lotions lined up on the expansive sink/vanity. He could at least reason that the tub was necessary for his torqued knee, as standing, under a heated spray no less, would only serve to prolong the injury and swelling.

If anyone asked, he would deny having enjoyed spending time here. A grave-worthy secret.

Twisting both taps open, the bath, a crème colored fiberglass tub fitted with bronze accents, began to fill with hot water. He fiddled with the taps until the water came out at an agreeable temperature before divesting the rest of his clothing. They pooled on the floor beside the tub, dark, shapeless smudges in the abnormally decadent bathroom. He'd clean up after himself later.

Much later, he decided upon sliding into the tub. His knee protested the bend that allowed him to sit, and he hissed through his teeth. He would need to ice it afterwards if he wanted to be mobile at all the next day.

Manipulating the taps off with the foot of his good leg, the other stretched outside and resting on the lip of the tub to prevent the heat from causing the joint to swell further, he lay back and let himself relax.

Dean started moments later when Castiel gently placed something on his aching knee. He didn't know how the fallen angel retained his ability to sneak so well, but so long as no one else ever managed to get the drop on him Dean didn't think much of it. He looked down at the offering and blinked. Ingenious, really. The recent lack of ice packs in the first aid kit would have caused trouble for Dean, but Castiel managed to create a viable solution.

One of the clean socks from the ex-angel's bag had been filled partially with ice, enough room left inside the cloth to allow if to bend and conform to his knee.

"Thanks, Cas," he said, honestly grateful. Castiel just stared back, eyes taking in the tub. Having been schooled in the art of manly bathing from Dean he never once observed the use of a tub. Surely, while he possessed Jimmy, he could have accessed his memories in these matters, but they were not his memories to rifle through.

"What is the purpose of having a basin so large?" he asked curiously. "The ones in other motels are much smaller."

Dean shrugged.

"Kinky shit, I don't know. Maybe it doubles as a jacuzzi."

The furrow in Castiel's brow explained his confusion loud and clear, but Dean didn't elaborate.

"Want in? That poltergeist got you pretty good too."

Chewing his lip in consideration, Castiel nodded his assent and began peeling off his own layers. The state of his clothes were no better than Dean's and he was glad to be rid of them, dropping them on top of the other hunter's pile of discarded clothing before daintily stepping into the tub.

Avoiding Dean's legs he seated himself across from the other man and sighed. The heat was glorious and he found himself relaxing almost immediately. Dean smiled at this. He tugged one of Castiel's feet into his lap, gently kneading the sole with his thumbs.

The reaction it garnered was worth the knowledge that he was giving his boyfriend an honest to god foot rub. Castiel moaned, toes splaying out cutely. His eyes closed and he sank further into the tub, one hand resting on Dean's ankle. He traced small circles there with his own thumb, breathing deep and slow while Dean continued to massage his foot.

The occasional sound of pleasure that slipped from Castiel's slightly parted lips raced right to the apex of the hunter's thighs. The heat of the water and steam made him lazy and complacent and he tamped down his sexual urges without much effort. Moving to the other foot, he rolled a knuckle across the underside. Castiel was positively purring and Dean grinned to himself, pleased that he could make the other man feel this good.

Almost twenty minutes passed without so much as a word exchanged between them, the water growing increasingly tepid while the ice melted through the sock on Dean's knee. The soggy sock hit the floor tile with a wet slopping sound as he shifted in the tub, standing carefully and pulling himself out. Castiel blinked up at him blearily, following suit after a moment.

Dean was halfway through drying himself off when his towel was snatched away. Castiel smirked back at him, running the dampened cloth over his quickly cooling skin and Dean wondered if he had been spending too much time with Gabriel. He refused to believe he was teaching the oh-so wholesome man any bad habits.

While Castiel dried off, running the towel over the back of his neck where he had scooted low enough in the tub to wet his hair, Dean crowded up behind him, arms sliding around his waist. He propped his chin on the other man's shoulder. Castiel glanced at their reflection in the bathroom mirror and smiled. He knew they weren't like most couples, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were both males. Even overlooking the obvious aspect of his being an angel, it was almost unheard of for a hunter, especially of Dean's experience and caliber, to be romantically involved with someone who could easily fit into the category of 'monster.'

He counted himself lucky. Dean was a good man, his soul bright and beautiful in spite of hell. In spite of his childhood, or the lack thereof. In spite of his self appointed duty to hunt.

The eldest Winchester sighed into the skin of his shoulder, tilting his head to press a kiss to the bath softened flesh. His hand slipped low, fingertips brushing across the light trail of dark hair on his lower abdomen. Emerald eyes gleamed at their reflection, Dean watching as Castiel's eyes dilated minutely, his nostrils flaring. The corner of his mouth twitched as his hand curled around Castiel's stiffening cock. Castiel's head dropped back to rest on Dean's shoulder when he started stroking him. The forgotten towel dropped to the floor, escaping the slack fingers of his free hand.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as Dean stroked him to hardness, using his injured knee to nudge his legs apart. Dean's erection rubbed against Castiel's backside enticingly, drawing a breathy moan from the hunter.

The ex-angel raised an arm, fingers tangling in the short hair at the back of the other man's head. He pulled Dean into a kiss, and although the angle was awkward Dean returned it enthusiastically. He teased Castiel's lips apart with his tongue, licking his way into the slighter man's mouth and tasting him at his leisure. He gave the cock in his hand one last squeeze before moving Castiel to lean over the sink.

Castiel caught their reflection briefly, cheeks coloring before he dropped his forehead to rest on his folded forearms.

Dean wanted him to look up, to see himself as Dean saw him while he languidly wrung an orgasm out of him, making him a shuddering, flushed mess, but Castiel still clung to his own brand of modesty. He was working at breaking down that modesty, masterfully stroking and teasing it to ruin; it was an ongoing process that Dean happily engaged in again and again.

Eyes darting around the sink top, searching out the lotions he knew he saw before, his eyes landed on the nearest bottle. He snatched it, quickly pressing the tab open and squeezing a generous amount across his fingers. It was scented with some exotic, unidentified fruit, the sweet but thankfully not heady smell hitting his nose before he worked one slick finger inside the ex-angel. Castiel gasped quietly, the sound muffled in his arm. He patiently waited until Dean wiggled the second finger inside before he pressed back, shamelessly trying to finger fuck himself on the other man's hand.

Dean held him steady, stilling his wanton movements. His fingers curled, twisted, and scissored, carefully stretching him open. At three fingers Castiel's breaths were punching out of him in short gasps and Dean finally, _finally_ decided that he was ready.

Squeezing more lotion into his palm, he quickly slicked himself, guiding his cock to Castiel's entrance. Dean was slow to push inside, allowing Castiel time to properly adjust, but he didn't stop until he was buried to the proverbial hilt. Castiel shuddered, wetting his lips. He was certain that this was one of his favorite parts of having sex with Dean. It was immediately after the initial ache faded, leaving him feeling warm and full.

Dean's body practically curled around his own, chest to back and thighs against thighs. His callused hands held Castiel's hips firmly, anchoring himself to the other man's heat and his deliciously prickling skin. He raised his arms to embrace him again, kissing the back of Castiel's neck and starting a shallow rhythm of thrusts inside him. Castiel gave a plaintive keening sound when Dean took him in hand once more, hips jerking and pressing his cock into the loose circle of the other man's fist.

Dean chuckled against his neck, drying locks of dark hair tickling his cheek. Even though he kept most of his weight on his good leg alone he could still maneuver well enough. Lengthening his thrusts after a period, the only sounds that could be heard in the room was an erotic cacophony of sexual expression. Castiel's sighs and moans were quiet, as were the grunts that escaped Dean's lips. Even the obscene slap of skin against skin was muted in the unhurried, sensual motions Dean made as he slid in and out of his once angelic lover.

Failing to name the slow-burning sex they engaged in time after time, Dean simply refused to call it anything. Castiel knew the difference between fucking and making love, and they certainly weren't fucking. He kept the term to himself for Dean's benefit, only sharing a quiet smile with the eldest Winchester because even Dean knew what they were doing. He was just too stubborn to call it what it was.

Trembling beneath Dean's touch, Castiel came first, pulsing hot over Dean's hand and through his fingers. Dean stroked him through it, following not too far behind. Releasing a deep moan as he pressed flush to Castiel's back, he rested his forehead between the other man's shoulders. Ever mindful in spite of the brain numbing that routinely occurred after a round of particularly amazing sex, Dean gently extricated himself from the smaller man.

Castiel straightened and stretched. He felt wrung out but in the best way possible. Dean had just finished wiping his hand off on the dropped towel, kicking it over to their pile of soiled clothing, when Castiel leaned into him and kissed him. The slow slide of lips was welcome and Castiel could feel Dean smiling into it. They remained in the bathroom a while longer, kissing and basking in the post coital glow.

"You should get off that leg," Castiel murmured against his collarbone.

It was just as well, Dean figured, limping slightly as they walked back into the hotel room. Castiel turned down the covers and climbed in. Dean couldn't help but muse on the fact that they didn't have to worry about mysterious stains or bed bugs for once. He slid under the sheets and found a comfortable position that wouldn't agitate his knee before pulling Castiel against him.

Cuddling was a no-no in the hunter's book, and Castiel knew this all too well. It didn't stop him from trying every once in a while however. When Dean initiated it himself he was all the more pleased. Lying on side, he draped an arm across Dean's waist and tucked his head beneath his chin, ear pressed against the side of the other man's neck. He fell asleep listening to the comfortingly rhythmic _whoosh-whoosh_ of Dean's heartbeat.


End file.
